


Bad Texan Irony

by mtjester



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 21:52:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2523044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mtjester/pseuds/mtjester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like the bad Texan you are, you've never actually witnessed a live rodeo before now.</p><p>But goddamn are you glad that you finally did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Texan Irony

The state fair smells like grease, sugar, and livestock, and you wrinkle your nose.  You’ve never been to any sort of fair before. You once thought about taking Dave, but he didn’t seem interested, so you stayed in and played video games with the little man instead.  This year, though, Jane finally qualified for the state fair pie contest, and you couldn’t very well refuse the offer to accompany her and the rest of the gang to watch her make history.  Pie making is a big fucking deal.  An art form, if you take Jane’s word on the matter seriously.  And why wouldn’t you?  Pie making as a complex art sounds as hilarious as it does intriguing.

You have a couple hours before the pie judging.  Jane, Jake, and Roxy all seem to be enjoying themselves, which is enough reason for you to enjoy yourself, too.  Only Roxy seems to find the aroma of fried twinkies and horseshit as repugnant as you do. You don’t bother asking her about it.  You can barely hear a damn thing over the music from the midway and the insane racket coming from the grandstands.  Something exciting must be going down in the arena.  Almost as if reading your thoughts, Roxy grabs hold of Jane and points towards the stands.  You have a pretty good idea where you’re going next.

It’s a rodeo. Like the bad Texan you are, you’ve never actually witnessed a live rodeo.  You all just missed a bull ride, which you guess is worth all the noise.  Only Jake seems to be legitimately invested in the event.  You’re pretty sure Roxy is only feeding off the energy of the crowd. You’re not too into it. You really are a shit Texan.

“This looks like a ripsnorting good time if I ever saw one!” Jake says, grinning as the crowd yells indecipherable things at the clowns in the arena.

“It looks like the next rider is getting ready,” Jane says.  She points at a gate near the end of the grandstands.

Jake releases a low whistle. “Whoa nelly, that lad looks like a paper doll on a wildebeest!  How long do you think he’ll last?”

He’s not entirely correct, you notice, examining the young man’s physique.  It’s hard to tell beneath the dirty jeans, the loose flannel, and the leather, but there seems to be some muscle on the guy’s body.  He’s just a compact guy on a very, very large bull.  Despite your general disinterest, you feel your heart flutter with something akin to anticipation, torn between excitement for the thrill of danger and concern for the exact same thing. 

The crowd hushes. The men outside the gate ready themselves as the cowboy finishes his preparation.  With a shout from the commentator, the gate flies open and the bull bursts into the arena, bucking wildly.  The cowboy rides the jarring waves with his hips, snapping his hand into the air to counteract the whiplash and maintain his balance. The bull rages in circles, but the cowboy holds on.  You see the exact second he begins to lose balance.  The bull twists, and the cowboy’s hips slide to the side. He shakes his hand off the bull and jumps off before it can pull him underfoot, and immediately a rodeo clown dressed in purple with a painted face is in front of him, distracting the bull so he can escape to the side of the arena.

You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath until Roxy shouts something beside you. The crowd is going wild. Apparently he stayed on the bull for a relatively long time, and apparently that’s also a good thing. He turns to the crowd and takes off his hat, revealing a messy mohawk and a enthusiastic grin.

Fuck, he’s cute.

“As great as it is to be watching a bunch’a guys give themselves brain damage, I gotta better idea how I wanna be spendin’ the night,” Roxy says, elbowing Jane in the side and wagging her eyebrows suggestively.  “Let’s go figure out mystery hot cowboy’s story!”

“But we just got here!” Jake says with something like a pout.

“I’m with Roxy,” you say. When she sends you a devilish grin, you add, “I’m not about the brain damage.”

“Hogswallop! You were into it,” Jake says.

“While I can appreciate the irony of an intercity Texan kid fully embracing rodeo culture without understanding a damn thing about it, I already have my plate full with a smorgasbord of ironic interests.”

“Oh, to hell with your irony!”

“How about you and Roxy meet the mystery cowboy, and Jake and I will stay and watch the rodeo,” Jane suggests.  You can take a guess at her real intentions, but you would rather let that train of thought die before it starts to poke at your insecurities.  You shrug.

“Sure.  Text us when the pie judging starts.”

Roxy grabs onto your arm and pulls you away, and you let her.  She’s absolutely shameless in her quest for the ‘mystery hot cowboy,’ strutting into places she probably shouldn’t go, but she doesn’t earn a single comment or dirty look from anyone who would otherwise take offense. She’s either brilliant at remaining undetected or pretty enough to get away with it.  You trail after her, upright and impassive, using your aura of perfect control as a ticket to trespass.  You only get a few looks here and there. If anyone thinks about stopping you, they don’t have the nerve to do it.

“There he is!” Roxy says, pointing to a dusty dude watching the rodeo from the sidelines. This close, you can see the mud caked onto his clothes and the beads of sweat clinging to his forehead. He’s still got that smile on his face. Roxy sashays right up to him and offers her hand.  “Hey there! We were watchin’ you from the stands, and we both thought you were cute as shit, so we came to congratulate you!” she says.

He quickly removes his glove and takes her hand as an automatic reflex to the gesture, but a blush blazes across his sun-darkened face as she finishes her introduction. His posture and smile reflect his sheepishness as clearly as if he were wearing a sign broadcasting his emotional state.  “Uh, thanks, for coming all the way here to congratulate me,” he says with a voice that’s unexpectedly sharp, halting, as though he once had a lot of trouble overcoming the same sheepishness now apparent in his expression.  His eyes flash from Roxy’s to yours. His bashfulness melts away, and his eyebrows drop with something like confusion.  Recognition?

“Yo, the name’s Dirk Strider,” you say, stepping around Roxy and offering your hand as well. You don’t know why he’s looking at you like that, but you’re going to take advantage of his sudden befuddlement. “This is Roxy. I just wanted to say that your bull riding technique was _inspiring_.”

If you were the right kind of guy, you would smirk a little and wink, but you prefer to accompany comments like that with a perfectly expressionless face.  Just for the reaction, of course.  His eyebrows fly up and the little pink blush returns. He’s now flustered as well as confused.

“Dirk Strider?” he repeats.

“That’s right.”

“I, uh...do I know you from somewhere?”

Roxy sends you a very meaningful look, but you don’t encourage her.  “I don’t know.  Do you?”

He stares at you for a moment, transmitting his conflicting emotions across his face like an electronic billboard.  He’s almost like Jake in that respect.  Transparent as fuck and apparently not ashamed of it.  Or incapable of changing it.  You find the trait agreeable in the right kind of person. Someone as religiously ironic as you knows how to appreciate genuine sincerity when it’s good.

“Hey, so what’s your name?” Roxy asks, shaking him out of his thoughts.

“Oh, sorry! I’m Tavros Nitram.”

“So, Tavros...you got a horse?”

You already know where this is going, and a sly glance in your direction confirms your suspicions. Tavros doesn’t notice her smirk. “Oh, yeah, I sure do!” he says with a grin.  “I actually have a horse in the horse show.  It’s my last year in 4-H.”  He says it with shameless, unadulterated pride.  This guy is a gem.

“Dirk here is a _huge_ fan of horses. We’re talking colossal horse fan, you don’t even _know_. I think he even means it sometimes,” Roxy says.  You shrug.

“Horses are the shit,” you say. Because they are.

“Oh!  Do you want to go meet her?” Tavros asks. He beams at you. He’s practically glowing through all the sweat and dust covering his tanned skin.

“Hell yeah, he does!” Roxy answers for you.  “Have fun, Dirk. I’m gonna hang with Janey. I’ll text you when the pie contest is a thing!”

“Wait, what?” you say, but she’s already gone.  You don’t know how she does it.  One moment she’ll be right next to you, and the next she’ll have disappeared.  And you thought _you_ were quick on your feet.

“Pie contest?” Tavros asks.

Well, looks like you’re on your own with this one.  “Yeah, I have a friend who’s all about baked goods.  It’s her first year in the contest.”

“I know someone in the pie contest, too!” he says.  He turns his body towards the exit, and you take it as a sign to walk with him.

“Yeah?” you say. Always the suave conversationalist.  You just _love_ being left alone with complete strangers in dubiously flirtatious situations.

“My friend, Gamzee. He’s also a rodeo clown. The one dressed in purple.” He gestures at the arena over his shoulder.

“The one with the face paint?” you ask.  “He gets into the part, doesn’t he?”

“He actually always wears the face paint,” Tavros says with a small laugh.  “He worships clowns or something like that.  I don’t really understand it, but he’s really good at not getting me run over by bulls, so I think it’s probably fine.”

“Ah,” you say, because what? This kid is friends with an actual juggalo rodeo clown?  That’s not your usual brand of weird.  But, hell, you make thousands of dollars on puppet porn every month, so who are you to judge?  Unable to come up with a better response, you just say, “Not getting run over by bulls is a good thing.”

“It most definitely is. I think, of all the parts I enjoy about riding bulls, not getting run over afterwards is at the top of the list.”

He’s glancing at you while he talks.  Not casual, conversational glances, but probing ones.  He’s examining you, searching for something in your face.  He probably thinks you don’t notice with your eyes obscured behind your glasses.  You don’t really know what he’s looking for, but you feel an almost flustered pressure to keep the conversation going.  “So,” you say, and your voice doesn’t betray a thing, “how good is your friend at making pies?  Because I’m secretly undercover to tip the odds in my friend’s favor, and I need information on all the competition.”

“Really?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“No.”

“Oh.”  To your relief, he laughs.  “Well, I think he’s good at baking, especially when he’s sober.  But, uh, he sometimes laces marijuana into his baked goods, so I hope he didn’t do that for this competition, because I think he’d probably get into a lot of trouble if he did that.”

He says it so matter-of-factly that you almost laugh.  Almost. You must be smiling a little, though, because his own smile widens considerably.  “It’d make the judging more fun to watch,” you say as he leads you into a barn.  The cheer in his laugh makes up for your stoicism.

“Oh, and we’re here,” he says, stopping in front of a stall.  A poster with various fairies and images from Disney’s _Peter Pan_ is tacked onto the outside of the stall. Inside, a beautiful horse peers out at you.  Tavros makes a clicking noise with his tongue and says its name, almost cooing, and it meanders over, sticking its face out to greet you.

“This is Tinkerbell,” Tavros says, petting the horse’s nose.  You don’t really know how to react.  If you’re honest with yourself, you’re actually really fucking excited, but in a muted, awed sort of way. 

You lift your hand but hesitate.  “Can I touch her?” you ask.

“Oh, sure. She’s a sweetie.” He buries his nose against the horse’s gigantic neck and strokes its rounded cheek.  Tinkerbell’s gorgeous eyes blink at you, as though affirming Tavros’s statement.  You pause for a second, and you lower your fingertips gently onto the mare’s nose. The velvety texture takes you by surprise.

“She’s soft,” you say, letting your palm rest on the snout.

“Yeah, she is,” Tavros say. He studies your face and asks, “Have you never touched a horse before?”

“Nope.  I’m a 100% horse stroking virgin.  I’m a city boy, cursed to gaze at beautiful livestock from afar.”

“Really?” Tavros asks, and he perks up, as though you said something of particular interest to him. “Where, uh...where are you from?”

“My brother and I live in the Dallas area,” you say.  Judging from his expression, he’s made a connection you’ve missed. You wait for him to make the big reveal.

“Do you battle rap, or do activities similar to that sort of thing?”

Your eyebrows actually twitch upwards at that.  “Yeah, we get around.”

His face breaks into a huge grin, much like the one he wore after his ride on the bull.  “I thought I knew you from somewhere! I, uh, that is to say, Gamzee and I, we like to go to battle rap events sometimes, being both of us interested in rapping in general, but we don’t really participate so much as watch and take inspiration from the better rappers.  But you, I think I’ve seen you rap before!  You’re pretty good, aren’t you?”

He waits for your response with new enthusiasm, and you can’t help but smile.  Who the hell would have thought a horse-loving cowboy at the state fair would recognize you from a rap battle?  This kind of shit just can’t be made up.  “Well, I won’t brag, but I won’t argue if you sing my praises,” you say, which is uncharacteristically cocky for you. But fuck it, this kid doesn’t seem to want to bother with formalities with you, and you don’t really want to bother with them either.

“Wow, uh, small world,” he says with a small laugh.  He pauses for just a beat to gather his thoughts, which you can almost see flashing across his face.  He has things he wants to say, but for some reason, he’s not saying them.  Maybe your cool kid facade is a little strong for him. Maybe you could tone it down a bit. You think maybe that’d be fine, just for this one case.  “Uh,” he finally says, bright eyed, “do you want—I mean, you said you like horses, but you haven’t touched one or anything like that, which I’m guessing means you’ve never ridden one before either?”

Oh fuck yes. “You’re guessing right,” you say.

“Do you want to?” Oh _fuck_ yes.

“If you’re cool with that, I’d be down.”

“Okay!  Just let me—“ but before he can finish, your phone goes off. You try not to grimace as you pull it out of your pocket.  It’s from Roxy.  Time for pie.

You sigh and show him the message.  “I guess it’s going to have to wait until later.”  His face shows all the disappointment you feel, but, to your surprise, he perks up rather quickly.

“Do you want me to go with you?  I mean, my friend is also involved as well, so it’s not weird that we’d go to the same place, at the same time, in order to both be supportive of our mutual friends, right?”

“Doesn’t sound weird to me,” you say, and you show him a tiny smirk.  He beams.

“Okay!  And, in the case that both of our friends do well, I hope you won’t be offended with a little bit of neighborly competitiveness, as I’m guessing spectators of pie contests tend to be when things get heated.”

He grins, and you’re floored. That sounds awfully playful. Maybe even pushing into flirtatious territory.  For all the comments you’ve dropped in the past towards Jake and all the amusement you derive from pseudo-flirtatious exchanges, you’re not exactly used to being on the end of a joking comment yourself, Roxy’s drunken confessions notwithstanding. You don’t even have to let yourself smirk this time.  It comes out all by its own damn self.  “I can accommodate a ‘friendly’ rivalry over some drugged up pie,” you say. And you do something you never do. You lower your glasses and wink.

In retrospect, you decide the wink is what earned you a phone number later that night.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually don't know a damn thing about rodeos so here's to poorly researched fanfics.
> 
> Sequel: [Texan Irony, Unironically](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2746076)


End file.
